Page 104 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
I announced to all the women that these four belonged to me. They’ve bitched me out a bit—well, not Beast, but the others—but that’s about it. Does that mean they’re okay with it? Could we work this out? I have no idea. Beast hasn’t mentioned it one way or another.
Part of me is afraid to ask. If he tells me that he wants me to be his and his alone then what? How do I handle this?
“Teach me what?” I ask, glancing back to see that my future husband has disappeared yet again. Beast’s good at that, slipping in and out of shadows. He’s been trying to train me to do that, but at this point, I wouldn’t try to sneak up on a herd of elephants; they’d still hear me coming.
The way Sin’s crooked mouth twists up in a smile makes me feel a bit dizzy. Why does he have to be so pretty? Not that I think it would change the way I feel for him or any of them really, but they might be easier to resist if they weren’t glorious columns of muscle and shadow and ink.
“To drive a bike,” he says, lifting a single finger to his lips. “Just … keep that big mouth of yours shut on this one, if you would.”
I frown at that, even though I know he’s being practical.
I sigh and sling the towel around my neck, lifting my wet hair out from underneath it. Sin studies me carefully as I shake it out and comb it through with my fingers.
“If you’ll recall, I know how to drive a bike,” I retort, lifting my chin proudly. All that one need do to know that I’m a goddamn liar is turn their gaze down to my ruined legs. Sin does exactly that before lifting his gaze back to mine.
“You know how to take a fall that would’ve killed lesser men,” he says to me, and even though I don’t want to enjoy the compliment, I do. Too much. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Was that your first time driving a motorcycle?”
I give him a look.
“Dude, come on. You know me better than that.” I start walking toward the house because, as I learned that fateful day, one should not wear shorts or skirts on a friggin’ motorcycle. It wasn’t like I had a choice last time, but I will never get on another bike without leather and denim slathered across my body. “Reba’s cousin, Ryan, taught me last summer.”
“Ryan?” Sin repeats with a dry laugh. “What did he ride? A fucking moped.”
“Actually, he had a Harley,” I say, lifting both brows and giving Sin a smug look over my shoulder. “He was good in bed, too. Huge cock. Big balls.” I squeeze my hand, wiggling my fingers around like I’m massaging Ryan’s pretend sac. Sin doesn’t need to know that the guy wore a promise ring and played bass in a worship rock band, one of those ‘be the glory of God, motherfuckers!’ sort of groups.
Even though he knows he’s being played, the insinuation annoys poor Colton Young.
“Well, Ryan best keep his Harley and his giant cock and balls to himself, or I’ll bury him underneath the rhododendron out back of your gram’s house.” Sin stabs his cigarette into the ashtray as we pass, following me into the house. It smells like cookies in here, but when I pause beside the entrance to the kitchen, I don’t see Nellie.
Instead, there’s a tray of cookies on the floor, pieces of them scattered around and crushed. Adrenaline surges through me as I glance back at Sin. My Magnum—which now remains strapped to me at all times, courtesy of Crown’s instructions—is in my hand within seconds.
“This shit is in your blood, isn’t it, Gidge?” Sin murmurs, drawing his own weapon. He takes the lead, moving through the kitchen toward the back doors. They’re both open, and we hear voices before we even set foot outside.
“Goddamn it, boy,” a voice snarls, and I know right away that it’s Cat. A shiver tears down my spine, but I shake it off. It isn’t me that’s being admonished this time.
Sin breathes a sigh of relief and tucks his weapon away, pausing beside the door and glancing around the corner. I join him—only I keep my weapon out. Just because.
Gaz is standing there on the patio, blood running down his chin. Crown and Grainger stand behind Cat like they’re his own personal bodyguards. Only … they aren’t his bodyguards so much as they’re mine. Regardless of how the romance and sex works out between the five of us, I know one thing for sure: they will always prioritize my safety over Cat’s.
As I said before, Gaz wasn’t afraid of Grainger at the party; he should’ve been.
“You think you’re above the law around here?” Cat asks, staring his son down with the darkest look in his repertoire, the same one he wore the night he put a gun to my head. With no warning, Cat strikes out, backhanding Gaz so hard that he falls on his ass.
